St Peter's Academy
by Superpicklechops
Summary: It's 1950, Jonathan Watson is at St Peter's Academy for Boys- a boarding school for 'troubled' kids. He's the victim of bullying, by both staff and students alike. That is until Sherlock Holmes arrives and John makes an unlikely new friend... Rated T for bullying, violence and corporal punishment. Please R&R, thanks.
1. Just a Normal Day

Author's Note: _Hello everybody. This fic has been in the pipeline for a while and I finally had the courage to upload it. Just so you know, I do not advocate corporal punishment under any circumstances, it just seemed appropriate for the time period of this story. Anyway, hope you enjoy it!_

_I don't own Sherlock but I do own a lot of merchandise if that counts?_

* * *

Jonathan Watson sat at the desk with his arms crossed and shoulders hunched. His face was set straight and his eyes searched the study floor to avoid looking upwards. There was an interesting spot on the carpet next to his left foot which he scuffed intermittently. He thought it was perhaps a tea stain. Or maybe it was coffee? John wondered if there was a way to tell without smelling it because that would seem weird. Not that it really mattered, his reputation wouldn't change anyway. At this school, John was the weird one, or the small one, or the queer one- a variety of names had been created by his classmates and they never improved in their creativity. None of them were really true, except maybe the 'small' one; he was quite small for 14, and he was generally a head smaller than the people in his year. This didn't help when it came to confrontation, which seemed to happen a lot to him. He never provoked anyone, never did anything to cause his relentless torment- except maybe that time when he called Billy a bastard in a moment of uncontrolled anger. John sighed and lifted his head slightly. The Headmaster still sat across the desk, arms gesticulating wildly in time with his words, shouting at John. He wasn't really sure what for, he'd blocked out Headmaster Stafford's voice about 10 minutes ago when he'd started going on about the 'Gentleman's Code of Honour'. John glanced to his left; Mrs Reynolds, the school nurse looked ready to fall asleep on the sofa. John thought how funny it would be if she did and a small smile came across his lips.

"Is something funny boy?!"

John jumped and looked up at Headmaster Stafford, who was now stood in all his 6ft splendour, glaring down at John.

"N… no sir…" John managed to stammer out. He tended to stumble over his words when he got nervous.

"Good. Because I don't find anything funny about fighting. Do you understand me Watson?"

John nodded.

"Yes Sir."

The Headmaster sat back down, slid his hand over his bald head and then clasped them together in front of him.

"You're lucky you're not getting the cane boy. You will lose your free time this evening as your punishment instead. Stand up."

John did as he was told and stood, tucking the chair in beside him. There was no use arguing with the Headmaster. John could argue back and say that he wasn't actually fighting- fighting would involve being able to punch back. He could say that Billy started it by grabbing his shirt and pushing him against the wall. He could say that in fact he showed great restraint by not punching Billy on the nose when he hit John in the stomach. John could say all of these things, but he knew there was no point. The Headmaster wouldn't believe him; he'd only punish John more. Billy got away with everything anyway, being the Headmaster's son. Of course a teacher had to walk round the corner just as John pushed Billy off him and on to the floor- that's just the way life was, well, John Watson's life anyway. Never fair.

"Straighten your tie, boy. Dismissed back to class. Off you go."

John brushed his blue and white striped tie down his crumpled shirt, adjusted his navy blazer, brushed down his shorts and pulled his socks up to his knees.

"Put your cap on Watson."

John picked up his school cap from the desk and pulled it onto his head. The headmaster nodded in approval of his appearance and John shuffled out of the Headmaster's study, closing the door softly behind him. His class was in the west-wing, at the other end of the school. _Great_. John sighed and trudged along the hall towards his lesson. He had science now, which he didn't mind to be honest, he particularly enjoyed Biology. He thought perhaps he might become a doctor one day, if he was clever enough. In the evenings, during free time, he enjoyed sitting in the library with a good book about human anatomy or a good fantasy novel. Then free time would finish at 8pm and he'd go back to his dormitory and hide in his corner while the other two boys, Mark and David had a pillow fight. That was better than them hitting John with the pillows, or throwing shoes at him. That was the downside to a boarding school; John didn't get a lot of time to himself except in the library. Then again, he wasn't sure the situation would be any better if he were still at home with his dad drunk most evenings, his sister following suit and his mum not being there. John didn't mind about his mum that much, she died in an air raid when he was four so he didn't know her that well, he just wished that there was a figure in the house that could actually talk sense besides himself. St Peter's Academy wasn't too bad, he liked the lessons and most of the staff, but because it was a school for 'troubled' kids there wasn't often a lesson that wasn't disrupted by something. John also hated the fact that the school was pioneering weekly one-to-one counselling sessions. He didn't want to talk to a random adult about his dad's PTSD and alcoholism. He didn't care. Not that he could do anything about it. John would usually just sit in silence and not say a thing, much to the concerns of the counsellors. One counsellor was convinced he was mute. He didn't mind Mrs Hudson- the Head Counsellor- though, she seemed nice and sometimes he would have a pleasant conversation with her about biology, or rugby or something that had been in the newspaper. She seemed to recognise that John didn't want to talk about his past, so she didn't pry. In the four years John had been at St Peter's, the most he ever talked was with Mrs Hudson. He kind of assumed that she was his only friend, seeing as no-one else would be seen around with him. Gregory Lestrade was alright. He sat next to John in History and seemed civil; John reckoned he didn't go around with him outside of the lesson for fear of being victimised, like John was. Not that he really cared, having friends was overrated, but then again friends do tend to stop you from being beat up on a regular basis. John considered learning self defence or something, but to what use? He'd just get into more fights and probably get excluded. At least he had half an education at the moment. John turned the corner into the west wing and walked quietly into his Science lesson, Mr Griffiths took the note that the Headmaster had given John and peered at it over his glasses, nodding when he realised John's lateness was valid. John took the corner seat alone, opened up his human anatomy book, blocked out the rest of the classroom and started reading about the different bones there are in a human hand. He'd been reading for 20 minutes before Mr Griffiths came over and made him copy out of a different book. Luckily John was a fairly fast writer from all of the times he had been made to write lines, and he was back to his book within a few minutes. He went unnoticed the rest of the lesson, because there was a scuffle between Steven and Charles at the other end of the room, two counsellors were called and they were taken away. Just business as usual, John thought. The lesson ended and lunchtime began. The class filed out of the room towards the cafeteria, but John ducked away and through a door, instead making his way to the library; he wasn't particularly hungry and at least the library was quiet. He often got away with sneaking back into the cafeteria just before the end of lunch and rejoining the lines to walk back to class. He'd been caught in the library a couple of times before though and lost his free time as a result. John preferred the library; the librarian was an old woman who didn't seem to realise he wasn't supposed to be there at lunchtime, she welcomed him. He could also sit on a soft chair there, so hopefully the pain in his stomach from Billy's punch might ease. The library was empty as usual. The librarian, Mrs Turner greeted John with a warm smile which he returned. He made his way to the children's corner to claim a soft chair but stopped when he saw that someone had beaten him to it. He'd never seen this boy around school before and stood dumbfounded for a few seconds. The boy was leant back on one of the chairs with his feet up on the other, his face buried deep in a thick and complicated philosophy book so that only his curly hair was visible. The boy's shoulders rose and fell smoothly with every breath and for a moment, John was transfixed. The way the boy breathed seemed relaxing. John shook his head to snap himself out of it and took a step towards the mysterious boy.

"Um… s…sorry… to bother you… I was… w… wondering if I could borrow one of… t… the chairs. You seem to have two." John spoke nervously with his head down. He never usually asked for anything, it's just his stomach really hurt from his run-in with Billy earlier. He half expected the boy to beat him up for asking, Billy would have. Instead, the curly haired boy looked up with bright green eyes and nodded. He removed his feet from the chair and nudged it towards John, then spoke with low tones.

"The pain will subside by this evening, just bruising. No internal damage. A hit any higher would have cracked a rib. Consider yourself lucky."

The curly haired boy leant back and his face was back inside the book. John stood for a moment, processing what the boy had said. _How had he…?_ John carried the chair away slowly and sat across the other side of the children's area. He put on his glasses and tried to become immersed in a new book about pirates: 'Treasure Island' by Robert Louis Stevenson but kept getting distracted. He continuously glanced over at the other boy and noted everything about him. He seemed strange, new and different. He was wearing a long black coat over his uniform and his thick dark curls hung messily over his head. And the green eyes. The boy hadn't looked up since John had spoke to him, and for some reason, John found himself wanting to see the green eyes again. The whole of lunchtime, John kept looking at the strange boy until the final 5 minutes when all in a flash, the boy got up and drifted gracefully out of the library. John almost didn't see or hear him go. He followed him with his eyes until he was gone and for a weird moment wondered whether he had seen a ghost. _No, that would be silly_, John thought. He'd never really taken interest in any other person before, as most of them were horrible to him but this particular boy seemed different. John had a feeling inside of him that this boy wasn't like the others and that intrigued him. He got up and walked over to the counter. Mrs Turner looked up from organising some papers and smiled warmly at John.

"Yes Darling?"

John passed the pirate book across the counter for him to take it out on a lend. The librarian stamped it and passed it back. John turned to go but looked back at Mrs Turner.

"Um, s… sorry to bother you. D…do you know who that boy was? Sat on t…the other chair just now?"

Mrs Turner seemed to consult her brain for a moment and returned with a shake of the head. John's shoulders fell slightly and the librarian spoke up quickly.

"Oh, but he did sign a book out. I'll have his name on the register here… let me see…"

Mrs Turner scanned down the page and proceeded to point triumphantly to one entry.

"Here we are… 'A Study of Tobacco Ash' was the book he took out… uh… Sherlock Holmes. That was his name. Does that help sweetie?"

John nodded.

"Sherlock… Holmes."

He ran the words over his tongue slowly, and the librarian seemed surprised at his interest in the other boy. John smiled gratefully at Mrs Turner and walked out towards the cafeteria, sneaking in successfully. Sherlock Holmes. _That's an odd name_, John thought. Interesting though, and different. John liked things that were different, like him. John elected to find out all he could about Sherlock Holmes, at least that would distract him from the boredom that was Physical Education which he had next. He didn't mind rugby, but other sports were just tedious. John walked into the changing room and groaned as he heard his teacher shout.

"Football today chaps! Get changed, get a move on!"

John hid himself in the corner and changed quickly into his PE kit. He'd never liked his body; he'd always considered himself slightly on the chubby side. Not all that much, but enough for Billy to take the mickey out of him, but then Billy would take the mickey out of him for anything. John had the pleasure of sharing his PE class with Billy Stafford. _Wonderful_. The boys all got changed and made their way out on to the cold field. Billy was made captain of one team, obviously, and Joseph was the other.

"Right, pick your teams lads."

John sighed and knew he would get picked last. To his surprise, 6 people in he heard Billy call his name.

"Watson."

Most of the boys threw confused looks at Billy, 'what are you picking him for?' John trudged towards Billy's team and thought for a moment he actually might be appreciated, that was until Billy spoke again.

"Watson can shove his fat body in goal, he'll cover the width alright but he won't be able to stop any goals above him!"

The class all laughed and John sunk his head down whilst the laughter continued. Even Mr Jennings, the PE teacher smirked. _Great_. The game started and John was put in goal. Footballs were fired at him from all angles and mostly very powerful. He managed to save a few by fluke but let in about 8. Billy only managed to score back 4 so they lost. John didn't really care, but apparently the rest of the team did. At the end of the lesson, the boys all walked back into the changing room, John slid to his corner, ready to change in silence when he looked up. Billy was stood directly in front of him, with all of the other boys surrounding in a semi-circle. John stepped backwards and pressed himself against the wall as the circle closed in. There was a deathly silence which was broken by Billy.

"8-4. Couldn't your fat backside save anymore Watson? Or were they all too high for you to reach?"

The group of boys sniggered and John melted further into the wall. Billy continued.

"I heard you've got isolation this afternoon for fighting. Tut tut tut Johnny, you should know better."

At that moment, John's focus was distracted by a figure that walked into the room, behind the group of threatening boys. John noticed the dark curls immediately and wondered what he was doing there. The boy stopped and peered at John over the crowd of heads. John suddenly felt very self-conscious. Here he was, pressed against a wall about to be pummelled half to death by 15 bigger boys and he was worried about what one boy he'd met for 2 minutes thinks! A sudden surge of confidence overcame John; he stood up straight and looked Billy in the eye.

"If you weren't such a rubbish striker then maybe we wouldn't have lost."

John swallowed as the crowd 'oooh'ed and he immediately regretted saying anything. It was an awful comeback anyway, what was the point? He was outnumbered 15 to 1. Did he want to show off to the curly haired boy? He didn't know and didn't have a lot of time to think about it before Billy swung his fist and met John's left cheek with a painful crack. John's head flew sideways and he managed to stay upright with a supporting hand on the wall. He wasn't stood up for long as an unidentified boot dug into the back of his knee and he fell forward, another boot hit his already tender stomach and John moaned. He curled up into his defensive ball, his hands covered his head and he prepared himself for the rain of boots and fists.

But they didn't come.

John opened his screwed up eyes and glanced up warily. There was a cry and a lot of commotion, some boys were on the floor and Billy was bent over in a headlock. John squinted to see who had him there but they quickly moved and within a minute the changing room had been deserted by Billy and his gang. John lifted his head from the tiled floor and felt his left temple softly. There was something sticky there. John frowned and felt a hand slip under his arm. He tensed up but the hand pulled him slowly to his feet and sat him down softly on the bench. John looked across the bench and saw the curly haired boy sat beside him, fumbling in a pocket for something. He soon found it and produced a silky white handkerchief. The boy draped it over his fingers and moved his hand towards John's head. He flinched and pulled back.

"Don't worry. I won't hurt you. I just need to clean up that blood on your head. Can't have you getting your uniform mucky."

John stayed put and the boy dabbed the cut softly. John winced at the stingy sensation but got an even weirder feeling with the boy sitting so close to him. There was an awkward silence that made John want to shiver so he spoke.

"It's Sherlock, isn't it?"

Sherlock nodded.

"And you're John Watson?"

"Yes."

John didn't know what else to say so he remained silent until Sherlock had finished cleaning his cut.

"There you go. Don't go saying stupid things to stupid people John; they'll only ever use violence to retaliate because they don't understand how to function their own brains."

Sherlock stood up and made to walk out of the door, John stood up and ignored the nauseous swaying feeling he felt in his head.

"Sherlock? Did you take on all those guys alone… and win?"

A faint smile seemed to flicker across Sherlock's face but disappeared in an instant.

"No John. You took them on alone; I merely gave you a helping hand. Take care."

With that, Sherlock swept out of the room, in a way that John thought you might see in a dramatic opera. John changed into his uniform and smiled to himself. Sherlock was an enigma- Who was he? Why was he here? Why did he help John?

John had too many questions and his head hurt too much to think about them right now, but as he made his way to isolation he knew one thing for sure: He was going to make sure he would see a lot more of Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Taking After Dad

John walked down the corridor in the east wing, watching all the other boys chat and run in opposite directions to wherever they decided to spend their free time. Headmaster Stafford's study loomed at the end of the corridor; the huge and heavy oak door was surrounded by shadows which seemed to swallow up John as he approached. He could hear murmuring coming from the other side of the thick wood and knocked nervously.

"Enter."

Headmaster Stafford's voice was deep and low. John turned the handle slowly and shuffled into the room, to be greeted by three sets of eyes. One of them was the Headmaster's, sat behind his desk. The next took John by surprise, as the green eyes of Sherlock lifted to meet his. The last set made John's chest fill with hot anger, as he saw Billy sat, red faced from crying opposite the desk. The Headmaster stood up and visibly controlled an urge to grab John.

"Move over here, boy. Behind the desk. Stand there. Quickly!"

John moved fast and stood beside where Billy was sat. Sherlock was to his left on a different chair and the Headmaster paced behind his desk.

"Billy has just informed me of what you did to him in the changing room, Watson. You and Mr Holmes's here decided it is acceptable to attack an innocent boy and his friends without due purpose!"

"But I d…" John tried to protest but was swiftly cut off by the Headmaster.

"Don't you dare answer me back! Billy has made it quite clear what happened. You instigated the attack by pushing Billy against the wall, and then Mr Holmes joined in."

John stood silently, his breaths heavy on his chest and his fists clenched tightly by his sides. The Headmaster continued.

"Now, I understand that Mr Holmes, being the Governor's son would not demonstrate this kind of behaviour normally and therefore your punishment will be less severe. You will be on bathroom cleaning duty for the next two days. As for you, Watson; I know about your father and his cowardly, drunken habits- I suppose it's obvious that you would follow in his footsteps. The cane it is for you boy."

John had stood, becoming increasingly tense as he listened to the Headmaster's speech. _This wasn't fair! Because Sherlock is the Governor's son, he gets away with it?! And Billy lied! _John was the one with the cut and bruised head. Just because the Headmaster believed his son over anything else… He hadn't even listened to John's side of the story! John knew his father was a coward- a deserter in the war- and he knew his father was a drunk but that didn't mean John was the same. There was, however, one thing John did know from his father, and that was anger. He couldn't control it.

The Headmaster opened a drawer and produced a thin and flexible cane. John breathed heavily; he couldn't hold it in anymore.

"This is ridiculous!" John shouted, making the Headmaster stop where he was and raise his eyebrows.

"Excuse me?" He said, his voice low and threatening.

"Billy's lying! He's the one who attacked me! Sherlock saved me! You only believe him because he's your son!"

John spat the last few words and rushed out of the door, leaving behind the stunned Headmaster and a smug-looking Billy. John ran down the corridor, tears filling his eyes; he turned sharply left and out the door onto the back field. A group of boys watched in confusion as he ran past towards the woods. The 6pm sun was setting and the cold air reacted with his fast breaths, pluming out into the wind. The woods provided cover from the breeze and John headed for a little furrow he knew by the perimeter fence. The leaves rustled as he dropped to the ground and lay on his side, his breathing was heavy and raspy in the October air but the place was peaceful. The trees in the breeze and a few autumn birds were all the sounds that reached John's ears as he lay on the cold floor. His breathing gradually slowed as he calmed down and tears over-spilled in his eyes until he was curled up, sobbing for a full five minutes. A rustle in the trees broke him out of it and his head popped up from the floor. A silhouette was approaching through the trees. He knew he'd get found by the teachers eventually, he always did. He'd run away twice before, once to escape from Billy and his mates and the other from his counselling session. John sat up and prepared for the strong words from the teacher, the shouting from the Headmaster and the cane on his hands or backside. The figure stooped through the branches and came into focus. It was Sherlock. John stood up as Sherlock scrambled into the furrow and stood beside him.

"Are you alright John?"

John swallowed and nodded. Sherlock sat down and stretched his legs out in front of him.

"You don't look ok." Sherlock stated, whilst fiddling with a twig. John crossed his arms and looked away from the other boy. He didn't reply so Sherlock spoke again.

"You know you'll get into more trouble now that you've run away."

John sighed and sat down, mumbling a response.

"_You _won't get into trouble though."

Sherlock shrugged.

"My dad's a Governor. He owns half the school. The Headmaster wouldn't dare give me the cane."

John frowned.

"He gives me the cane for doing nothing." John muttered dejectedly. Sherlock smiled half heartedly.

"To be fair, you did just shout at him…"

John scowled and flushed red.

"To be fair _you _did beat up Billy and _I _was the one going to be punished for it."

Sherlock chuckled and crossed his legs.

"He deserved it. He gets away with everything that Billy."

John nodded in agreement.

"I know. He beat me up the other day and I got told off for it."

Sherlock sighed.

"So, does he beat you up often?"

John nodded and looked down at the ground, brushing his hands through the leaves.

"He seems to have something against me." John said.

"Is it because your dad's a deserter?"

John tensed up and looked away sharply. Sherlock carried on talking.

"He ran away, didn't he? A bit like you're doing now…"

John turned and launched himself at Sherlock, pinning the curly haired boy to the ground and holding his shirt in his fists. Red hot anger swimmed in John's head.

"What did you say?" John said through clenched teeth. Sherlock's eyes were wide.

"You don't want to be like your father, do you?" Sherlock asked. John breathed heavily.

"Do you?" Sherlock repeated. John shook his head and Sherlock's voice softened.

"Yet you're running away from conflict, like he did."

John's grip tightened on the boy's shirt and he resisted the urge to punch him. Instead he spoke through clenched teeth.

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"Control your anger first. Calm down and we'll talk this through." Sherlock suggested. John took a few deep breaths, then released Sherlock's shirt, sitting down in defeat on the floor. Sherlock sat up and brushed down his shirt. John's body was turned away from him, his knees up to his chest. Sherlock spoke softly.

"You don't have to be like your father. You're your own person."

John shook his head and wiped a tear that was forming in his eye.

"No. I'm just like him. A stupid coward."

"No you're not. Just look at how you stood up to Billy today in the changing room. You were outnumbered at least 10 to 1 and you still dared to answer back! How is that cowardly?"

John sniffed and didn't reply. Sherlock shuffled to sit closer to John.  
"Look. You can't change the way things are in one day, but you need to make a start. You can't let this kid keep pushing you around."

John turned slightly towards Sherlock, a confused look in his eyes.

"Why do you care?"

Sherlock looked away nervously, dropping his stone clad exterior for just a second. He turned back to John; his face had resumed its natural nonchalance.

"I was bullied in my old school. That's why I moved here last week. I know what it's like."

John dropped his knees and clasped his hands in his lap.

"You were bullied?"

Sherlock nodded with no expression. John was staring, trying to see a hint of emotion but Sherlock hid it with words.

"You need to make a change. You can start by facing your fears and going back into school."

John looked down and swallowed apprehensively.

"I'm going to get so done for running away."

Sherlock shrugged.

"Nothing a strong lad like you can't handle."

John let out a small smile, but it was quickly overrun by an expression of worry.

"Then what after that?"

This time, Sherlock smiled.

"It'll just be the two of us, against the rest of the world."


	3. Facing Your Fears

Twenty minutes later, the sun was practically set and John finally worked up the courage to go back to school. It would almost be the end of free time by now, kids would be heading to the cafeteria for dinner and the Headmaster would be finishing off work in his study before his meal. John was sure that there would be teachers out and about, looking for him. They usually did. Sherlock reassured him that everything would be ok and John put on a brave face but inside he felt like mush. Both boys left the woods and walked across the field. John was looking at the floor nervously.

"Sherlock, you should go. If they see you with me they'll know you helped me."

Sherlock shrugged and continued to walk beside John.

"No, they'll think that I brought you back so don't worry about me."

John gave Sherlock a small smile as they walked through the door into the east wing. John was immediately greeted by a huge figure in front of him and stopped, not daring to look up. The low and deep voice of the Headmaster filled his ears.

"Good work Mr Holmes. Your punishment is revoked. Now you should go before I change my mind."

Sherlock gave John a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before walking off down the corridor.

"As for you, boy..."

John breathed in sharply as the Headmaster's hand grabbed his collar at the scruff of the neck. John stumbled forward as the Headmaster half led and half dragged John to his study. The heavy oak door slammed and John was pushed into the centre of the room.

"We do not tolerate liars, bullies or runaways at this school. Bend over and touch your toes."

John swallowed and did as he was told. He heard a drawer open and the Headmaster approach. John squeezed his eyes tight as the first blow landed. His whole body jolted forward and only his fingertips prevented him from falling. There was a delay before the pain kicked in but when it did it was searing. The second blow from the cane landed exactly where the first did and John bit his bottom lip, suppressing tears. On the fifth hit John whimpered and by the tenth he was sobbing. Finally, the Headmaster stopped and pulled up John's collar so he stood. His legs felt like jelly and tears rolled down his cheeks, his breaths were shallow and a whimper escaped from his lips. The Headmaster replaced the cane in the drawer then walked over to John. He bent down so that his face was directly in front of John's and spoke quietly.

"I hope you've learnt your lesson. If I hear that you've done anything of this sort again, you'll be wishing you were never born. Do you understand me?"

John sniffled and nodded. The Headmaster stood up straight.

"Good. Go to your room. No dinner for you today."

John nodded again and turned, hobbling out of the door in considerable pain. The whole walk was painful and when John reached his dormitory, he fell onto the bed, laying on his front. His backside was burning and throbbing. He wasn't sure how long he was there for until he heard the door open and a calm and deep voice fill the air.

"John? Are you ok?" Sherlock asked, approaching John's bunk bed. John kept his head on the pillow and shook it.

"Let me help." John heard Sherlock say. The other boy walked to the bathroom and he could hear running water. Sherlock returned and sat on the edge of the bed.

"You're going to have to pull down your trousers."

John lifted his head from the pillow and looked a Sherlock with tear streaked cheeks, slightly embarrassed at the thought but Sherlock just gave him a comforting nod. He sighed and shuffled his trousers down gently, wincing at the pain. Sherlock drew a deep breath as John's wounds were revealed. Dark purple and black strips coloured the pale skin and there were a few streaks of red where blood had been drawn.

"This will hurt a bit at first." Sherlock said as he lifted a wet towel and started dabbing the wounds. John snivelled and buried his face in the pillow as Sherlock cleaned the cuts. He then produced a wound pad and placed it over the abrasion, fixing it in place with some medical tape.

"There you go." Sherlock said once he was done. John reached and took his pyjama trousers out of his drawer, pulling them on gently over his injury. He lay on his side on the bed and looked up at Sherlock, who was still sat there.

"Thanks." John said with a small smile, although his cracked voice revealed his true emotional state.

"Not a problem. Mrs Reynolds' medical supplies are really easy to steal; I figured you might need some." Sherlock said as he packed away the first aid kit. John nodded and squeezed his eyes, taking short breaths at the pain.

"Get some rest John."

John swallowed and kept his eyes closed, trying to forget about the pain. Sherlock got up to leave but John's meek voice stopped him.  
"Would you mind staying for a while? Please…"

Sherlock turned back and pulled the chair from the desk to sit beside the bed. He took John's hand in his own as a gesture of comfort.

"You're really brave John, you know that right?"

John didn't respond, just kept his eyes closed and his breaths coming out quickly.

"I would have run away forever if I was in your position."

John's eyes opened slowly. His voice came out soft and broken.

"You were the one who convinced me to come back. I thought it was because you were brave?" John's tear stained face creased up in confusion. Sherlock shook his head and looked away awkwardly.

"I'm not brave; I could just see that you are. You're as brave as I've always wanted to be."

John smiled slightly.

"I think you're brave. You took on Billy and his mates to save me, and you're willing to help me. Not many people even want to speak to me, let alone help me. Thank you."

Sherlock looked at John and smiled.

"I can see you are worth helping." He patted John's hand and stood up.

"Get some sleep now. I'll see you tomorrow."

With that, Sherlock left and John shut his eyes, blocking out the pain by thinking of his only friend, Sherlock.

Sherlock- who he'd known for just one day.

Sherlock- with his green eyes and dark curls.

Sherlock Holmes- who was willing to help a sad, small and lonely little boy called John Watson.


End file.
